


Meilleurs vœux pour la nouvelle année

by VoluptuousPanic



Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Elnor Be Eating, Fluff, Hugh | Third of Five Lives, M/M, happy new year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28479999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoluptuousPanic/pseuds/VoluptuousPanic
Summary: Hugh. Elnor. Chateau Picard. 11:55pm.Happy New Year, good fortune, and fantastic stuff for the Hugh Crew and and everyone else who's left comments and kudos over the past hell year. Thank you! <3
Relationships: Elnor/Hugh | Third of Five
Comments: 9
Kudos: 19





	Meilleurs vœux pour la nouvelle année

In his lifetime, Hugh had hoped for little. Of course there is hope in the abstract, in the macro—hope for his people, for triumph of good, for the simple realization of Mazlow’s Hierarchy of Needs, for antiquated notions of the brotherhood of Man. And then there is hope held by fools, hope for wants rather than needs, for pleasure over sustenance, for life’s rich pageant in all of civilizations’ permutations, for community and fellowship. For desire. Love. The simplest hope of any fool.

Hope, like any muscle, withers with neglect and disuse. For Hugh, the flex of hope, like the utility of his body, is carefully maintained and fitted to purpose. 

Hugh had never deigned to set frivolous goals, to tend a bucket list of experiences or travels. The small number of wonderful things that occurred in his life were wholly random, strung together in relationship to one another, but never planned. A belief in serendipity, however, was a folly beyond hope. As such, there had been little need, when the present cycle began, to consider possibility for calendar items outside the scope of the usual. Instead, this year had included seeing Picard in person for the first time in three decades, witnessing the most brutal decimation of his people in recent memory, dying, recovering from dying, learning that he was improbably revered as a martyr, sleeping in William T. Riker’s “guest shanty,” and visiting France. 

Even more improbably, as Hugh took stock of these instances on the last of an arbitrary set of days meted into a calendar unit, was that as he did so, he was sliding into bed beside a young and beautiful Romulan lover who had tried in vain to protect him and his people, and delivered him from his unexpected death. A young and beautiful Romulan lover who was fast asleep, over tired with festivities and fun, intoxicated by sweets, but who woke to move heavily, warm and pliant, into Hugh’s arms to clumsily paw at him, pulling at his teeshirt. 

Hugh pressed a kiss to Elnor’s forehead, and gently pushed his eager hands away. “Happy New Year, e’lev,” Hugh whispered, passing a palm over the delicious length of Elnor’s naked back before drawing him close. 

Elnor whined a single syllable and screwed his head into the space beneath Hugh’s chin, settling immediately, almost abruptly, back into sleep. Hugh occasionally envied Elnor’s youth and the open possibilities of a long Romulan life, but felt no envy for Elnor’s flirtatious sugarplum blackout or the hangover that Elnor would wake up to. For now, Hugh was content to drift off, holding in his arms a love that was real and his, though they lay in someone else’s bed, in someone else’s home. 

Outside in the dark, there was another pop of champagne cork, the small boom and infectious frizzle of sparks, voices counting in multiple languages, and then “ _Bonne année!_ ” Hugh was wary of expectations for the coming year, but he’d begun the last with the simple hope it would be better than the previous. It had.


End file.
